


The Eighth Wonder

by cylobaby27



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 09:43:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15554979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cylobaby27/pseuds/cylobaby27
Summary: Dean catches a glimpse of Castiel's ruined wings, and wonders if he truly is worth all the suffering Cas has gone through for him.Cas sets him straight.





	The Eighth Wonder

It was supposed to be a simple job. They had tracked down a demon that had been making deals in southwest Nebraska, and were staking out the crossroads until it showed up.

“I hate stakeouts,” Dean mutters. Their take-out boxes are long-since empty, and he can’t even turn on one of his cassettes. They had parked the Impala under the cover of the forest that lined the roads, and were now peering through the windshield at the empty dirt road.

“Do you have a better idea?” Sam asks snippily.

“I just want to gank this bitch and be done with it,” he grumbles.

Sam sits up straight. “Then you’re in luck. Someone’s here.”

They watch as a young girl, no more than sixteen, kneels in the dirt to bury a small box. She is skinny and lanky, and is far too young to be damning herself for eternity. Beside him, Sam is muttering, “What are you doing? Get out of there.” Glancing at Dean, he says, “Can demons even make deals with kids?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “There’s no such thing as statutory deal-making. If you’ve got a soul, you can make a deal,” he points out. “Demons probably love idiots who are young enough to think they’re invincible.”

On cue, a light-haired woman appears behind the teenager. The girl jumps, but turns to talk to the new arrival.

“Let’s go,” Dean says, but Sam is already opening his door. It’s a warm summer night, and the crossroads are silent except for the murmur of female voices and the buzz of insects from the nearby forest. Using the cover of darkness and the fact that the demon is distracted by making the deal, they manage to get within a few yards before their presence is known.

The demon looks over at them, eyes slipping into red. If it weren’t for her eyes, the woman would have been a looker, but Dean had long-since been able to disconnect the human body from the demon within. “Winchesters,” she hisses softly. Turning back to the girl, she coos, “Pucker up, princess. We’ve got to make this fast.”

“Run!” Dean shouts at the girl, waving his gun and running to tackle the demon. The bullets won’t kill the demon, but they will sure slow her down.

The girl hesitates, looking between the demon and the two weapon-wielding brothers, and then turns on her heel and high-tails it out of there.

“Kids these days,” the demon says, dodging Dean and taking several steps back. “Well, no harm done, now that you two idiots scared her off. I should go now.”

“We know she’s not the only one you’ve met with here,” Sam told her, gripping Ruby’s knife as he watches her movements.       

The demon glances over at the small water tower that the Winchesters are herding her towards, and stands her ground. “Let me guess; Devil’s Trap? I’m not an idiot, boys, I know your M.O.”

“Then maybe you should have gotten the hell out of Dodge before we showed up,” Dean snaps. “It’s too late now.”

The woman smirks, and a chill runs up Dean’s spine. “Oh, don’t worry. I took precautions.”

There is a low growl from behind them, and the brothers tense. Dean can practically feel hungry eyes watching him, and his legs and torso give a phantom twinge of pain. “Hellhound,” Sam mutters as though Dean wouldn’t be able to recognize that sound.

He’s heard it enough in his nightmares to know it anywhere.

They both whirl around, staring at the empty crossroads warily. Behind them, the demon says, “Toodles, boys. See you in Hell,” before there is the distinct sound of the demon fading away.

“Glasses,” Dean shouts, fumbling in his pocket for them even as he aims his gun at the faint sound of breathing and pulls the trigger. There is no tell-tale whimper or blood splatter, so Dean aims again and fires into the night. This time, there’s a yelp and a growl. Score.

Finally, Dean manages to slide the glasses onto his face, just in time to see the wraith-like beast lunge towards his brother. “Sam!” Dean shouts. Ruby’s knife flies from Sam’s hand as he is tackled to the ground. Luckily, Sam was able to put his own glasses on, but he is only barely dodging the hellhound’s snapping teeth.  

Dean tries to aim for the hellhound, but he can’t get a clear shot without risking hitting Sam instead. Sam cries out when the hellhound’s claws rake down his side. In that moment, Dean sees his own flesh being shredded by claws and teeth. He sees Jo holding her own insides in after a similar scratch. Too many people have been killed by hellhounds, and there was no way Sam was going to join those ranks. Not today.

Dean is already starting to pull the trigger when there is a rustle of wings, and Castiel appears in the crossroads. Without pausing, he stabs his silver angel-blade into the hellhound’s side, straight through its ribcage. With an ear-splitting keen, the beast collapses heavily onto Sam.

Before he even realizes he is moving, Dean is kneeling at Sam’s side, pushing the hellhound off of Sam’s body. “Sammy!” Dean exclaims.

“I could go the rest of my life without ever doing that again,” Sam says, coughing weakly and putting a hand over his side.

“Let me see,” Dean demands, trying to determine the severity of the wound by the amount of blood on Sam’s fingers.

Sam shakes his head. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he assures Dean, lifting his hand slightly so that Dean can see that he’s telling the truth. “I’ll live.” Sitting up with Dean’s help, Sam looks up at the angel who had, once again, saved their asses. “Thanks, Castiel. I—Are you okay?” he exclaims, voice suddenly concerned.  

Dean’s gaze immediately snaps from his brother to his angel. Castiel is standing at the center of the crossroads in his normal suit and trench coat ensemble, the blade already tucked back out of sight. Brow furrowed, Castiel looks down at his own body, but he appears unscathed. “Of course I am okay,” Castiel replies.

But when the angel shifts, Dean’s attention is suddenly drawn to the addition to Castiel’s appearance. Dean had always known on some level that Castiel had wings, but he had never been able to _see_ them before. Even on that first night, they had just been a dark shadow in the sigil-covered warehouse wall. The wings are enormous, stretching for several feet on either side of Castiel’s body even though they are half folded. Though their size is astounding, the part that truly captured Dean’s attention is their state.

They are, in a word, _broken._ Thick, pink scars litter the surface, breaking the flow of the matte-black feathers. There are large gaps where feathers are simply missing, creating a tattered appearance that is completely unlike anything Dean had ever imagined. Rather than being the powerful white wings of the angels painted in churches, Castiel’s wings hardly look as though they would be able to take to the air.

When Dean finally meets Castiel’s eyes again, he finds the angel looking back, head tilted. “What is wrong?” he asks, gaze flicking between Sam and Dean.

“Cas, your _wings,_ ” Dean says, horrified, climbing to his feet.

As they watch, the wings are suddenly tucked tightly behind Castiel, nearly obscured by the trench coat. “Your glasses have been scorched by holy fire,” Castiel realizes, shifting uncomfortably.

“What happened?” Sam asks. He stands up, and Dean catches him when he stumbles slightly. “Where have you been?”

Castiel shakes his head. “You do not need to worry.”

“Not worry?” Dean explodes. “Dude, you look like you’ve been through hell!”

The angel flinches. “I have. That is why they…. They have looked like this for years. There is no need to be concerned.”

“Years?” Dean repeats. “What—”

“I must go,” Castiel says, taking a step backwards.

“No, just wait a…” Dean trails off when Castiel snaps his wings once and disappears. He stares at the empty space for a long moment, and then turns to Sam. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

#

 

Dean cleans out the scratches on Sam’s side, reassuring himself that they are as shallow as they appeared. Sam is sitting shirtless on the hotel bed while Dean works, looking nonchalant about the pain. Then again, after his time in the Cage, Dean doubted that many things on Earth were enough to make his brother flinch. Sometimes, Dean wondered about just how fucked up their lives really were.

They’re silent until Sam finally voices their thoughts. “Do you think Castiel is okay?” he asks quietly.

Dean presses an gauze bandage over the scratches on Sam’s sides and starts to tape it in place. “I don’t know. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it, which is… weird.”

“Cas has kept secrets before,” Sam points out.

Dean has a residual flare of pain over Cas’s deal with Crowley, but pushes it aside. “What could do that to an angel?” he asks, taping down the last bit of the bandage before straightening up.

Sam shrugs. “Like he said; Hell.”

“What, you think he meant literally?” Dean asks.

“He said it’s been years. Think, Dean. He fought his way through Hell to pull you out,” Sam says. “Angels aren’t supposed to be down there.”

“He pulled you out of Hell too,” Dean grumbles.

Sam’s expression turns into what Dean liked to call his ‘bitchface.’  “It’s not a competition, Dean.”

“They looked… painful,” Dean says as he packs the first-aid kit.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees softly.

“So why didn’t he ever tell us?” Dean snaps.

“Maybe he didn’t think it was any of our business. He’s an angel. Humans aren’t even supposed to be able to see their wings. It’s probably not the kind of thing an angel talks about with humans,” Sam says.

Dean turns angrily to Sam at that. “We’re his friends. It’s not like Cas thinks we’re not worth talking to. Don’t act like he’s still the douchebag we first met.” This is _Cas_ they’re talking about. The angel in a dirty trench coat with impossibly blue eyes that can see through Dean in a second, and somehow still sees something good. The friend who has become like a brother to him over the past few years. The brother-in-arms who makes Dean feel like something special, who makes Dean’s heart stutter when he stands too close, who Dean would trust to have his back any day.

Sam holds up his hands to show that he meant no offense. “That’s not what I mean. Having damaged wings like that has to put him at a disadvantage. Maybe he didn’t want to seem vulnerable.”

“We’ve helped him when he’s been hurt before,” Dean points out, pained by the idea of Castiel not trusting them.

“That was his vessel. Wings are obviously more personal,” Sam points out, and then shrugs. “Or maybe he just never mentioned it because we wouldn’t have been able to see them or help him either way.”

“Still…” Dean says.

“I don’t like that he’s hurt any more than you do,” Sam tells him. “But when he comes back, we can ask him. Maybe there’s something we can do to help. Until then, there’s not much else we can do. We’ll just have to show him that we’re here for him.”

“I guess,” Dean says.

 

#

 

A few days later on their way to hunt a Wendigo, Dean borrows Sam’s laptop to run a quick search on angel wings. They hadn’t seen Castiel since the incident at the crossroads, and Dean wasn’t able to sit around and wait for Cas to show up again to get his answers.

Unfortunately, the lore he found online was conflicted, as most information on angels was.

What he discovers is that very few people have ever caught a glimpse of an angel’s wings, since they are beyond the range of normal human perception. From the accounts Dean can find, the wings are described as lush, white, and pristine, nothing like the tattered, black appendages Castiel possessed.

All sources agreed that the wings are a vital part of an angel’s Grace, and were difficult, if not impossible, to damage.

However, Dean has learned from experience that angels aren’t as invulnerable as they liked mortals to believe.

 

#

 

Sam and Dean are just about to crash into their beds, tired and sore even after their showers after a long, but successful, Wendigo hunt, when Castiel appears. It has been more than a week since the last time they saw the angel, despite Dean’s prayers for Castiel to return. Dean had tried everything from reassuring the angel that they were just worried about him to threatening him for vanishing over something as stupid as a few scars, but there had been no sign until now.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam greets. “Long time, no see.”

They have gone longer without the angel’s company, but any break of more than a few days feels unnatural. Castiel had become a part of their team over the past few years, whether he lived with them or not.

“Hello.”

“So, where have you been?” Dean asks challengingly.

“Dean,” Sam reprimands.

Castiel shifts uncomfortably, his long trench coat rustling quietly as he moved. “You did not need me,” he says.

“We don’t just want you around when we need you,” Sam tells him. “We’ve been worried about you.”

“I told you there was no need to worry,” Castiel says shortly.

Dean pulls his glasses from his pocket. “Well, unless you’ve magically healed since—”

“Stop,” Castiel snaps, taking a step forward. “Put those away.”

Rolling his eyes with a huff, Dean says, “You’ve seen me literally torturing souls in Hell. Why can’t I see your wings?”

“I had to be there to save you,” Castiel replies. “This is irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” Dean demands. “I just want to know that you’re all right.”

“I am fine,” Castiel says. He is on edge, obviously ready to fly away again at a moment’s notice. “This does not concern you.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re not worried,” Sam says in a soothing tone.

“You saw them. There’s no reason for you to see them again.”

“What happened to them?” Sam asks.

Castiel looks frustrated, but admits, “My Grace was not equipped to withstand a battle in Hell, especially such an extended one. They were damaged, but the wounds are no longer open.”

“They were black,” Dean says softly.

“The soot of the fires of Hell does not wash off easily,” Castiel explains.

They are silent for a long moment before Dean asks quietly, “Do they hurt?”

Castiel hesitates, but then admits, “Yes.”

Dean whirls on Sam. “Let me talk to Cas alone for a minute.”

“Sam, you don’t have to leave,” Castiel says immediately.

Sam looks between them and then nods cautiously. “I’ll go grab us some dinner. All three of us.” Taking a step closer to Dean, he adds quietly, “Try not to be a complete asshole, okay?”

Dean just scoffs and waits for Sam to leave. After the younger Winchester has grabbed his coat and walked out of the motel room, Dean and Castiel stare at each other without saying anything. Castiel still looks far less than comfortable, and Dean is practically itching to have this thing settled.   

“Why didn't you ever tell me?” Dean finally asks, breaking the silence.

Castiel gives a small shrug. “I did not think it mattered.”

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Dean says, “Fuck, Cas, have I seriously been that bad of a friend to you? You can tell me this kind of stuff. I want you to tell me this kind of stuff! I want you to be okay.”

“You never discussed your scars from Hell. I do not see how my not telling you about my wings is any different.”

“I don't have any scars from Hell. You brought me back all shiny and new,” Dean says and then rubs a hand across his shoulder with a short laugh. “Well, except the one from you.”

“Not all scars are physical, Dean.”

His gaze is focused on Dean's face, and Dean shuffles under the attention. “It's not... I'm not... That's different.”

“We're soldiers. Admitting vulnerability will always be difficult for us,” Cas says. “Can you truly blame me for not wanting to admit that I am... less? For wanting to remain worthy in your eyes of your trust and companionship?”

“Less? A few scars don't make you less. They prove that you went through hell. Literally. For _me_. How could I ever think less of you for that? And we both know Sammy would agree with me on that,” Dean says. “You're family, scars and all.”

Cas's brow is furrowed. “I don't understand. If it doesn't matter, why are you so angry?”

“I'm not...” Dean trails off when he sees Castiel's blank, disbelieving stare. Starting to pace, Dean admits, “Yeah, I'm pissed. You dove into the Pit to save _me_ , and look what you got for it! Chronic pain and not much else.”

“I got you,” Castiel points out simply, and Dean's breath catches. “You are my reward.”

“Seriously?” Dean chokes out. “You want me to think that I was worth everything you’ve gone through? Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not. I would do it again for you tonight.”

“Cas, I'm a bad-mouthed, reckless alcoholic. The only reason you were ordered to pull me out was so I could be Michael's vessel, and I couldn't even do that. It was a waste of your time. You didn't deserve to get broken over me.”

“You were worth it.”

“Stop saying that!” Dean shouts.

“I won't,” Castiel says. “I told you then that you deserved to be saved. I stand by that, but now I see that you deserve so much more than just that. You're the Righteous Man. It's part of your soul.”

“I've hurt people. People have died for me. Friends, family—innocent people!”

“And you have saved millions,” Castiel points out. “I've seen you inside and out. I know your nature as thoroughly as I know my own. Perhaps better.”

“And you still think that, out of everyone, even when it hurt you to do it, _I_ should have been saved?” Dean questions. The words are so unbelievable that they are hard to get out.

“And that you should be happy. And at peace,” Castiel says, stepping into the path of Dean's pacing and making him stop short. They are inches away from each other, and tension hovers in the air like a palpable cloud. “And loved.”

Dean shakes his head, unable to voice his jumbled thoughts.

“Do you trust me, Dean?”

“Of course,” Dean says automatically, voice gravelly.

“Then trust me that I know and believe what I am saying. I love you, Dean Winchester, and it has been worth every moment of pain to know that you are still in this world.”

Dean gapes at him.

Finally looking slightly hesitant, Castiel sways back an inch. “You needed to know, since apparently my actions have not spoken loudly enough. To understand why I have done what I have done, you must know that I love you for your virtues as well as your flaws.” With a shrug, Castiel continues, “I do not expect anything of you.”

“You're insane,” Dean says quietly, and before Castiel's lips can finish forming a frown, he is leaning forward to capture those same lips in a desperate kiss.

Dean has never kissed another man before, but the brush of the scruff on Castiel’s jaw against his own sends a surprising shiver of arousal down his spine. Castiel is hesitant at first, so Dean softens the kiss even further, making it a slow drag of lips and an exchange of breaths. He begins to expect that Cas is going to push him away, but he doesn’t. Soon, the stiffness bleeds out of Cas, and he leans forward into the kiss.

After a moment, he pulls back slightly. “What are you doing?” he asks Dean, his blue eyes scouring Dean’s face from top to bottom, lingering on his lips.

“Kissing you,” Dean answers breathlessly.

“Why?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Because you’re an idiot who apparently can’t see that I’m way out of my league here,” he says. When Castiel looks even more confused, Dean admits, “Because I love you, too. I have for a while now.”

Castiel’s face brightens, and he stares at Dean with an odd mix of shock, admiration, and lust. It’s the last bit that prompts Dean to put his arms around Castiel’s waist and lean forward for another kiss.

As their tongues entwine, Dean reaches up to shove the tan trench coat from Castiel's shoulders. The angel lets him do it, but he growls when it forces Cas to let go of Dean for a moment.

  
Dean uses his teeth to gently nip Castiel's bottom lip to distract him as Dean sets to work unbuttoning the omnipresent white shirt. He has to pause to undo the blue tie, but it was already so sloppily tied that it took almost no effort to remove.

  
Cas retaliates by making quick work of Dean's own clothes, and without a row of buttons to worry about, he is able to get down to Dean's jeans while Dean is still fumbling with Cas's shirt.

  
When Castiel unzips Dean's jeans and gently cups the bulge in his boxers, Dean hisses through his teeth in pleasure. It isn’t enough, not even close.

  
Castiel is maneuvering Dean backwards, but Dean is too focused on the teasingly light hand in his pants that he doesn't notice until the back of his legs bump into one the beds.

  
With one quick motion, Dean finds himself lying on the bed, completely naked. Castiel, still in his black pants and white undershirt, straddles him and then leans in for another kiss, accompanied with a casual grind of his hips. The texture of Castiel's dress pants on Dean's bare cock sends an almost uncomfortable rush of sensation through him.

  
Castiel trails his kisses lower, pausing on Dean's neck for a moment before moving down to focus on his right nipple. Dean's breath comes more quickly at the attention, gasping when Castiel switches to the other.

  
After, instead of moving farther down to where Dean was truly aching, Castiel moved his head sideways, pressing a kiss to the brand on Dean's left shoulder. The touch zings through Dean, far stronger than he had expected.

  
Breath brushing the scar, Castiel whispers, “You deserved to be saved.”

  
“Cas, I—”

  
Castiel kisses the scar again, and then moves to capture Dean's lips. “I would do it again in a heartbeat. No consequence would be too great.”

  
Dean begins to protest again, but Castiel shakes his head. “No, Dean. Tonight, you're listening to me. I will keep repeating it until it gets through your brain. I love you.” Castiel kisses him again. “And I'm so lucky to have you.”

  
It is almost physically painful to be this vulnerable, to feel this overwhelming sense of being loved conflicting with his own doubts. It is a relief when Castiel resumes his path down Dean's chest, swiping over his belly-button once before settling over his straining cock.

  
Castiel spends a moment simply observing him, making Dean squirm and prop himself up on his elbows, looking down at the angel. The sight of Castiel between his legs, expression solemn yet fascinated, sent another wave of lust through Dean. “C'mon, Cas, it's not for looking.”

  
There is a small smile on Castiel's face when he replies. “So I've gathered.”

  
Dean's snarky retort comes out as a gasp when Castiel suddenly lowers his head and swallows Dean into his mouth. The heat is overwhelming, as is the act of watching Castiel slowly bob up and down, eyes locked on Dean's. A tongue traces up the underside of Dean's shaft, and Dean falls back onto the bed with a groan, unable to sit up any longer.  
Castiel is methodical with his motions, making Dean feel like he was being turned inside out. He picks up his rhythm only when Dean begs him to, barely aware of the words falling out of his mouth.

  
When Dean begins feeling the full-body tingle that promises his release, he groans, “Stop, Cas. Not like this. I wanna...”

  
The wet pop that Dean hears when Castiel pulls away is almost enough to make him reconsider, but when he looks into Castiel's curious, lust-heavy eyes, he knows what he wants.

  
“Come up here,” Dean growls. When Castiel is within reach, Dean grabs his head and pulls him in for a fast, sloppy kiss. Dean can taste himself on Castiel's tongue, and it's hotter than it should be.

  
“Dean?” Castiel questions, now sounding slightly uncertain.

  
“Clothes. Off. Now,” he says, jerking Castiel's shirt over his head before they work together to remove Castiel's pants. “This isn't just about me.”

  
Castiel tosses the last vestiges of his clothing off the bed and then crawls back over Dean. “You heard me earlier, Dean. This is about you. It's always about you.”

  
“Well, what I want is to see you,” he says, emphasizing the word with a quick kiss, “feeling more than you've ever felt before, just because of me.” When Castiel looks uncertain, Dean presses, “I told you I love you. I want you.”

  
“You want me,” Castiel repeats, a hint of question in his voice. However, his hand is sliding under Dean, trailing towards his ass, so Dean knows he understands.

  
“This isn't something I do,” Dean tells him. “I don't, you know, take it for anyone. Hell, you're the first guy I've even kissed.”

  
Castiel's hand freezes and he begins to withdraw.

  
Dean shakes his head and grabs Castiel's arm, holding it in place. “But when it's you, I realize that's something I want. To have what I've never had before with you.” He hesitates and admits, “I'm not...sure about all of it, but I trust you. You're not going to hurt me.”

  
“I'd rather die,” Castiel agrees.

Dean wants to make a joke to lighten the mood, but he knows Cas is being completely serious. Hell, he _has_ died for Dean.

  
The sensation of Castiel's fingers inside of Dean is slightly uncomfortable, but Castiel distracts him from the pain by sliding down Dean's body and taking his cock into his mouth once more.

“Where the fuck did you learn how to do this?” Dean chokes out. “Have you—I mean, with someone else?”

“I’m very observant,” Castiel said. “I’ve never wanted anyone else. Relax for me, Dean.”

  
The invasive fingers become pleasurable once he adjusts to the sensation, to the stretch of Cas’s thick fingers. Soon, the unrelenting pleasure from Castiel's mouth and fingers leaves Dean torn between thrusting forward and pushing himself back. All he can think of is that he wants more.

As though Cas is reading his mind, his fingers slip out. The angel lines himself up and then slowly pushes into Dean. It’s a steady, pulsing motion, sending Cas deeper so slowly that Dean thinks he’s going to lose his mind. The pace gives Dean plenty of time to adjust to the size, but Castiel refuses to go any faster, even when Dean wraps his legs around his hips and tries to pull him closer.

“Cas,” Dean moans. “Please.”

“You trust me,” Cas reminded him. “Let me take care of you.”

Dean throws his head back and groans. “Dammit, Cas,” he says, but he stops fighting him. The sensations build even faster when Dean makes that decision. He’s here, vulnerable to Cas once again. Once, Cas had swooped into Hell and pulled him out, seeing the bloody parts of Dean’s worst self. Now, Cas is seeing another open, raw part of him, the part that whimpers and moans as Cas bottoms out inside him.

“I love you,” Cas says, and kisses Dean.

Dean kisses back, desperate, as Cas starts to move. He stays slow and steady until Dean licks into his mouth and tries to _show_ him what he needs. Then, finally, Cas moves faster, claiming and covering Dean.

“I won’t last long,” Dean confesses into Cas’s mouth. Just knowing that this is Cas _inside him_ is enough to put him on the edge.

“Me either,” Cas says, without the hint of embarrassment Dean had revealed.  His hand moves between them to grasp Dean’s length. “I want this. I want you. Come for me, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean says, surprised by how the request shoots through his system like lightning. He would give Cas the world if he could. If this is all he’s asking for, Dean feels like he would turn himself inside out to comply.

Cas kisses him again, and says, “Let me see you, Dean. Come for me.”

And Dean’s lost. Pleasure lances through him, starting from where they’re connected, like an explosion. Cas kisses him through it, soaking in every desperate, overwhelmed breath. Then, Cas follows him over the edge, pumping into him a few more times and then dropping his head against Dean’s shoulder. He kisses the freckles there.

“Shit,” Dean says, reaching up to run his hands through Cas’s hair. He stops halfway there, resting them instead on Cas’s shoulder blades. He runs his hands up and down twice before moving to his original destination. “Fuck, I’m glad you’re here,” he says.

“I love you,” Cas says.

He pulls out, and gives Dean a deadpan look when he grimaces at the sensation. He sighs and kisses Dean’s cheek, like an apology.

How did Dean get this lucky? How did he end up here, with Cas settling in beside him on top of the covers of the bed?

“You're too good for me,” Dean admits with an unsteady laugh, putting his head on Cas’s shoulder.

Cas shakes his head and pulls Dean closer. “I’ll feel _you’re_ too good for _me_ ,” he admits softly. “You’ve overcome so much, and you’re still the man I love. But unlike you, I’m not willing to let that stand between us. If you’re willing to choose me to, I won’t let you go.”

“I love you,” Dean says,

Dean realizes through his post-orgasmic haze that the motel’s lights are still on. “We need to clean up before Sam comes back and gets traumatized,” he comments without pulling away from Castiel.

“No need. He came by the door, heard us, and quickly left,” Cas said.

“Shit. He did? And you noticed?” Dean adds, almost offended.

“I am an angel, Dean,” Castiel points out.

“God, I don’t think I’ll be able to look him in the eyes tomorrow,” Dean laughs.

“You brag about your sexual exploits all the time.”

“Yeah, but this is different,” Dean says. “You’re…you. You’re important, Cas.”

“You know that Sam will be happy for you, as long as you’re happy. Are you happy, Dean?”

Dean tucked his face into Cas’s shoulder. “Yeah, Cas,” he said. “I am.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://starknjarvis27.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> The title is from Expensive Mistakes by Fall Out Boy, because I find all my titles based on the song stuck in my head at that moment.
> 
> I actually wrote 90% of this fic FIVE YEARS ago, but back then I shied away from the sex content and put it aside until I would one day have the guts to finish it! I hope it was worth the wait.


End file.
